Break Out
by Winchestergirl67
Summary: Dean has lost all hope in his life, he's in prison awaiting a trail that will no doubt earn him the end of his life, for crimes he hasn't committed, and yet, he couldn't care less. Not until a familiar face shows up, more than willing to break him out of there. Sisfic. - cowritten with loveintheimpala
1. The Last Thing Expected

_So, I'm back! I've had this idea floating around in my head for a long, long time, but I could never find the words to write it. As usual, the amazing_ loveintheimpala _came to my rescue and helped me to write the first chapter! This is set season two, AU if Dean hadn't been able to make the deal to save Sam's life when he was stabbed. Dean would be 27, Hanna 25, and Sam 23._

 _Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 **Break Out**

 **Chapter One: The Last Thing Expected**

 _Carson City, Nevada_ _— Springhill Prison — 3:32PM_

The punches landed hard and fast to Dean's face, over and over again, relentless, to the point that he could barely even feel their impact anymore. He was bordering the line between consciousness and unconsciousness, and, at that moment in time, he wasn't sure which side of the line appealed to him more. Nothing seemed to hurt, and sometimes, when things were that bad he wasn't even sure that he was still human anymore, he couldn't find the energy within himself to fight back. Those were the dark days, when there seemed to be no light at the end of the tunnel for him. Everything around him faded away into nothing, because that's all it was to him, nothing. It didn't matter anymore. He was just going through the motions in life, putting one step in front of the other and breathing because he had no choice anymore but to live. The fight had gone out in him. And he wasn't sure there was any going back from the place he had found himself.

Dean could feel it happening, he was about to slip from consciousness all together, he was about to black out as a result of the constant blows to his face, he was ready to will himself into that dark place where he didn't know what was going on around him and where he felt no pain. He was ready to drift into that place of solace, where he knew nothing and no one, where the constant cycle of haunting thoughts that plagued his every waking moment were finally silenced, where there were no nightmares and no guilt, but he didn't make it. Not this time. A new force pulled the man above him away. He wasn't sure what had happened, but he could hear the distant sounds of shouting, he could see the blurred outline of men fighting around him, and he could feel someone slapping his face hard with the back of their hand. It wasn't out of kindness, and it wasn't out of concern, it seemed purely done with the intention of keeping him awake. "This one's good." A voice muttered, low and gravelly and frustrated. "Take him to get cleaned up, will ya?"

And, with those words, two men were unceremoniously pulling him up to stand. Dean cracked a grin and harshly pulled himself free of their grip, refusing to be carried anywhere. As far as he was concerned, he had walked in there himself and he would sure as hell walk out himself. He spat out the blood from his mouth and gave a lopsided smirk to the large man pinned to the ground by two officers as he passed.

Things had been different when he had first gotten there. There had been so much more fight in him. There had been a spirit in his eyes, a glint of mischievousness, a cockiness that no one there could match, he could have taken down anyone or anything that dared stand in his way. Hell, he had done. But things quickly changed. No one had ever seemed to understand it before, but there had always been a reason that Dean Winchester refused to let people into his heart. It had always been out of a fear of them leaving him. He hated the thought of being alone, he always had done, and it had taken him a long time to admit that to himself. It wasn't until he had found himself locked in a cell, staring at the walls with unlimited time to think, that he had even realised himself. All through his life, everyone had gone. His mother, his father, his sister, and even his brother. Whether voluntary or not, they were all gone. In that place, he was alone. More alone than he had ever been in his life.

His parents, that hurt him, it always had done, but he had carried on. When his sister had left the job, when she had found herself a life away from hunting, that had hurt, but he had wanted the best for her. He had missed her, but he hadn't blamed her. But Sam. The night Sam had gone, that had ended every last shred of hope in him. It was as though a light had gone out in him, and he had never been the same again. After that, everything became dark, as though a blackness had taken over his soul, a looming presence of loss that always lurked in the shadows of his mind, waiting for him, ready to remind him of how many times he had let down the ones he had loved. The death of his brother had changed everything.

That had been the reason he had never gone back to his sister. The guilt had been too much for him. He wouldn't look her in the eye, he couldn't. After Sam, he had barely even spoken to her. He refused to visit, and more times than not, he would ignore the calls she wouldn't give up making to him, because he just couldn't stand to hear her voice, not when he knew he was the one responsible for her losing her little brother. Dean thought about his sister every single day, and he missed her, he really did, but he wouldn't do anything about it. He wouldn't crash her life to pieces the way he had done with Sam's. He was better off alone.

From there, everything had become about hunting, about finding revenge for his brother. And when that was done, what more was there? Hunting no longer seemed to have meaning, his sister was better off without him, his parents were dead, after Sam, he had no one else. And then things had gotten sloppy. He no longer took the same care when hunting, he took risks and cut corners, and the sloppy hunting had quickly become hunting with rookie mistakes. Which became bigger and bigger until the day he had been bundled into the back of a police car and thrown an orange jumpsuit.

There had been no turning back after that. Lying in his cell, thinking, waiting on the trial he knew would result in the end of his life, he didn't care. He knew he wouldn't get off, he knew nothing would save him, yet he still didn't try. He made no phone calls, he didn't even meet a lawyer. There was no attempt at escape, because he was just so done with the outside world, he couldn't face it.

The one person he'd had left in his life that had offered him any kind of hope had been gone. The one person who had been there every single day for him, the one who kept him fighting the fight, he wasn't coming back. And, in a sense, neither was Dean.

After Sam, after his life sentences for the murders he didn't commit, Dean became a shell of himself. He had once been one of the most feared hunters to ever walk the earth. There were demons out there in the darkness who didn't dare speak his name out of a fear he would find them. He had always been known as untouchable, the fearless Dean Winchester that kept monsters hiding in the shadows. But he wasn't there anymore.

At first, Dean would walk through that prison and notice people make room for him. There was no one who dared stand in his way, no one brave enough to cross the path of the man sentenced to as many crimes as him, no one desired to be on the wrong side of him. But that was on the outside, that was only what people saw. On the inside he was a darker and much more broken man. He was no longer concerned with keeping himself alive. Somewhere deep down he just wanted it all to be over. He wanted to stop fighting.

And sometimes, he did.

On the really bad days, when there didn't seem to be anything left to fight for, he allowed the punches to come raining down without even an attempt to stop them. There were rumours about it throughout the prison. Some said that the ones he allowed to beat him were the unlucky ones, because he always came back stronger. He took his revenge on them when he needed it. They all knew, no matter what, if he tried, he could beat down anyone in that building.

Dean was dragged through the door of the prison's infirmary by the scruff of his neck and thrown down into one of the uncomfortable plastic seats towards the side of the otherwise empty room. "Wait here," The prison guard told him, his voice harsh. "Don't even _think_ about trying anything, Winchester." The officers, by now, knew him well enough that they could leave him in there alone to wait for the nurse. They knew he wouldn't try anything, they knew that he didn't need supervising.

He rolled his eyes and slumped down in the chair, releasing a long sigh. "Wouldn't dream of it." he muttered, and he didn't even bother to force the sarcasm into his words. Sometimes he was just grateful for the change of scenery. An afternoon being stitched up in a hospital could be more entertaining than staring at the same four bland grey walls.

The door at the other side of the room opened, and he didn't even bother to look up at the nurse who had entered. He was all too used to seeing her face, hearing her dull tone.

But there was a difference this time. Usually it would only take a second for her to start laying into him. She had grown into a habit of warning him about his behaviour, telling him that the fighting was going to get him nowhere good. This time, there was silence.

For a long moment, nothing was said, and, although he could feel someone watching him intently, he simply could not be bothered to lift his head and meet their gaze.

Dean heard whoever it was take a small step forwards, their step light on the cold floor. "Jesus Christ," A soft voice spoke over the silence of the room, hushed and almost sad. It sent a chill down his spine. The door was slammed closed, a little too forcefully, and his eyes went wide as he looked up. The nurse stared down at him, taking in the orange jumpsuit splattered with his own blood, the deep bruising around his eyes, both old and new markings there. The splits in the skin of his face, the gash in his forehead, the cut in his lip, it all added to the blood that dripped from his face to his clothing. And it all made her feel a little ill. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, he couldn't even begin to will his brain to form a sentence. The face he stared at wasn't the one he had been expecting. He blinked, hard, but she was still there. It wasn't a concussion, it wasn't an illusion, she was in that room with him, and she looked close to tears. He couldn't even breathe. Slowly, he rose to his feet, all pain in his body completely forgotten about, and looked over her slowly. "Hanna?" He frowned at her, shaking his head. No. This wasn't right. He _had_ to be hallucinating. There was no way that she could really be standing there. He couldn't believe it. He didn't believe it. But there she was, his own sister, dressed in pale blue hospital scrubs and frowning right at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"


	2. I'm Here To Help You

_Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the last chapter. Thank you to those of you who have favourited and followed it so far, your support means so much to both me. Also, huge thank you to loveintheimpala for the helping me to write this fic, for the ideas and for the help!_

* * *

 **Break Out**

 **Chapter Two: I'm Here To Help You**

 _Carson City, Nevada — Springhill Prison — 04:01PM._

Dean stared at Hanna, and Hanna stared at Dean. Nothing was said between them for a long moment, and neither of them dared to blink. The room around them was silent, tense, and neither sibling was sure how to react. He just couldn't believe that his sister was really there, he couldn't understand why she was standing in front of him. It didn't make any sense. Had she known that he was in there? He assumed, with the amount of crimes he had been accused of, it had to have hit the news at some point. But, why now? It wasn't as though he was new to the place, she was. Something _had_ to be going on. Something had to be wrong. She wouldn't be there otherwise. Was she hurt? Was she in danger? Was she there because she needed his help? He tried to think though the million possibilities, but he just couldn't work it out.

Time seemed to be at a complete stand still. Neither of them were quite sure just how long they stood there and stared at each other in silence, unable to speak to the other. It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, hell, it could have been an hour. It was only as the door opened behind Hanna, a sound that clearly made her jump, that she seemed to break herself free of her trance. Hanna cleared her throat, composing herself a little, as an officer forcefully dragged another inmate inside the room, something that seemed to coax a reaction out of her. The officer nodded at her, offering a small smile, before he forcefully shoved the man down to sit in one of the chairs there, and she knew that he wasn't going anywhere soon.

Dean narrowed his eyes as she gestured for him to follow her into the infirmary. Hesitant, he did.

Hanna held the door for him and he brushed past her, refusing to look anywhere but the floor ahead of him. He turned and watched her intently as she closed the door behind herself, trying to pick up on anything she gave away, but there was nothing. She leaned against the door and released a small breath, looking as though she was struggling to face him again. The room was small, like a regular doctor's office, but Dean didn't take much time to look around. His eyes were focused on the girl in front of him, because he didn't know what to do. Slowly, almost tentative, her green eyes rose and found his, already staring right into hers.

"Hey." she said softly, her voice was thick with emotion, and he knew that his face probably wasn't a pretty sight for her to be looking at.

But Dean only continued to watch her, his brow furrowed in confusion, and he shook his head slowly. Hey? Was that all she could say to him? In their current situation, he had expected a little more. Surely, he _deserved_ a little more. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked her, his voice was firm, low, so not to risk the officer outside hearing him.

Hanna didn't react for a long moment. She looked him up and down, and he was sure she was holding her breath. "What happened to you, Dean?" she asked, she sounded hurt. He was covered in blood, yet he didn't seem at all concerned. But, honestly, that wasn't the worst of it. That wasn't the part that pained her the most, it wasn't the part that ripped her up inside, it wasn't the part that scared her. It was the look in his eyes, the look of complete loss, despondence, desolation, hiding in the shadows of green. He had given up completely, and she could see that just by looking at him. "Dean." She sighed, and he could see how hard she was fighting back her emotions with everything she had in her. Whatever she had expected to see there, he had obviously taken her by surprise. He had a feeling it was the state he was in. "What's going on?"

Dean shook his head, that was the last thing on his mind. He didn't want to talk about himself, he didn't want to answer questions, he wanted an explanation. "Never mind what happened to me." he snapped, a little too forcefully. He was growing impatient. He needed to know why she was there, he needed to understand what was going on in her head for her to make such a stupid and reckless decision. He had seen her pull some stunts in her time, but this was a whole new level for her. "What the hell are you doing here, Hanna? Why didn't you just say if you wanted to visit me? If they work out who you are, that's it, you know that, right? You'll be behind bars."

But Hanna scoffed, she didn't look at all bothered. "I'd like to see how that works." she muttered, and he noted there was a little more confidence behind her words. "Dean, this isn't me sneaking in to see you. This isn't some ten minute social visit. I work here."

Dean's entire face fell at those words. He looked her up and down slowly, only now truly taking in her appearance. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun, pieces of it falling softly around the shape of her face. She wore blue hospital scrubs, ones he had seen her in a million times in the past and thought nothing of it. "You what?" He frowned. "Why? I mean—what?"

Hanna shrugged. "I'm here to help you, Dean."

For a long moment, Dean didn't react. His eyes practically begged her for an explanation. He was so confused, nothing made sense. But then, it all seemed to click in his head, a horrible sense of realisation washed over his face, and Hanna could see it happening. It was so much worse than he could have ever anticipated. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't accept it. Not a chance. "No." He shook his head vigorously. "No way. You're not here to help me. Not a chance." He stopped and shook his head at her, pulling a hand down his face. "How did you even get this job?"

"Newsflash, Deano, a broken arm is a broken arm. Prisoners take the same healthcare as everybody else in this world, it's hardly much of a stretch from what I used to do." she replied, as though there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary in what she was doing.

"Oh." Dean nodded sarcastically. "So, you make a habit of stitching up mass murderers and sticking band aids on rapists? Huh? Hanna, this place is dangerous. You can't be in here."

Hanna shook her head. "I'm not leaving you." she said, and there was so much determination in her words, he knew that she meant it. But he wouldn't take it.

"Hanna." Dean snapped at her, and he took a short breath to compose himself. He wasn't going to lose his temper, not there, not now. Slowly, he looked up to her again, there was a softness in his features, one that she knew would never see the light of day outside that room. "Look, kid, I appreciate what you're doing here, I really do, but I am not about to drag you down into this with me. If they find out what you're doing here, you're gonna find yourself in prison. You know that."

Hanna scoffed, and he knew she wasn't ready to back down. "You know what, Dean, in your current situation, I wouldn't be complaining too much. You need help."

But Dean was determined not to give into her, she was stubborn, she always had been, but he could be, too. "I have it under control."

"Under control?" Hanna huffed a dry laugh. "You're looking at _dying_ in here, Dean. And if that isn't by old age it's gonna be one of these thugs murdering you. I mean, look at yourself."

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly, defensive. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Slowly, tentatively, Hanna reached out to him. Her fingertips graced the side of his face and slowly moved towards his jaw line. She shook her head slowly, and Dean could see the sorrow in her eyes as she looked at the damage inflicted upon him. Without even realising it, Dean leaned into her touch. Everything else was forgotten about for a short moment, their argument meant nothing. She was gentle and gracious with him, and it had been a long, long time since anybody had shown him any kind of concern or affection. He knew, no one else cared about him. She was the only one left in the world who would show him any kind of care. He didn't deserve it, he knew that, but she didn't seem interested in that. She wanted to help him, she believed that she could, and he was more than aware of the fact she was ready to throw away everything for him. But he couldn't allow it. He wouldn't. He refused.

For a moment, she looked as though she wanted to cry. "Dean—"

"No, Hanna." he stopped her. He wouldn't listen to it. He wouldn't give her the chance to talk him around. "I can't let you do this. I'm not gonna let you throw your life away for this. You're worrying over nothing."

" _Nothing_?" Hanna gave dubious laugh. "Dean, there are people in here clearly ready to kill you. I don't wanna have to treat you because you've been shanked in your cell."

"Well, there's a very simple solution to that." He threw her a sarcastic smile. " _Leave_." Her face changed a little, and he could see her biting back a comment. "Do I have to spell this all out for you? Hanna, you have a husband and a house and a job and a friggin' mortgage. What the hell are you thinking?"

"Yeah," Hanna looked down to the floor, away from him, and it was an action that he didn't miss. She gave a soft laugh, and the look on her face was unreadable. She brushed past him and walked further inside the office, her back to him. "Not quite."

Dean narrowed his eyes, a little confused. "What does that mean?"

"Jason and me, we're getting a divorce, Dean." She shrugged and turned back to face him. "Guess you were right about him, he wasn't the guy I thought he was. I moved out of there and, I don't know." She sighed and moved to lean against the desk behind her, arms folded tightly over her chest. "And then I found out about them adding fifteen years to your sentence. I had to do something."

Dean watched her, there was a sadness in her eyes, that was clear, but something didn't add up. "Is that true?" he pressed, suspicious, because something was standing out at him, something that didn't back up her story. Hanna looked up at him again, frowning, as if to question how he could even ask her that. "Your name badge tells me otherwise."

Hanna glanced down at it. _Hanna Jones_. She huffed, rolling her eyes. "What? You think I could walk through the front door with the name Winchester pinned to my chest every morning? Might raise a few eyebrows, don't you think?"

There was something about her that seemed off, something he couldn't put his finger on. "What are you doing here, Hanna? Really?" Dean pressed, for what felt like the millionth time, he just didn't understand. "You say you wanna help me, _how_? How exactly do you think you can help me? What is it you think you can do from your little office? Huh?"

Hanna smiled at him, and he didn't miss the glimmer in her green eyes. "I'm gonna break you out of here."


	3. Conflicted

_Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the last chapter, your support means so much to me!_

 _And thank you again to the amazing loveintheimpala for helping me with this chapter, without you there would be no story!_

 _Hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you for reading!_

* * *

 **Break Out**

 **Chapter Three: Conflicted**

 _Carson City, Nevada — Springhill Prison — 04:_ _17_ _PM_

Hanna wanted to break him out of prison.

Was that really what she had just said? Dean felt like laughing, in fact, he would have done, had it not been for the look on her face. Hanna's expression was resolute, and his face contorted to a frown, he was confused. Why wasn't she laughing? Was she serious? No, she had to be joking. That was all he could put it down to, one big joke. Because Hanna wasn't that stupid, she wasn't that naive, was she? He noticed something; her face hadn't changed. She looked stone cold serious, and he knew right there that she wasn't kidding around. Hanna meant every word that left her mouth. She was there with the intention to break him out of jail.

Dean loved his sister, he really, really did. But sometimes, he just couldn't even begin to understand what the hell went on in her head. She was insane to think that she had a shot at something like that. And he wasn't going to allow her to even attempt it. The conversation started and ended right there. He wasn't going to listen to it, he wasn't going to let her think too far into it, because it wasn't happening. Not a chance.

Dean wasn't quite sure what to say to her, he simply stared at her, unblinking, unsure how much time passed since she had spoken. He had to say something, he had to react, before she threw water at him or slapped him around the face to snap him out of it. But what could he say? How was anybody supposed to react to being told something like that. Deciding that he must have heard her wrong, or that she was just dragging out her own lame joke, he shook his head. "What did you just say?"

Hanna raised an eyebrow at him. "I said, I'm gonna break you out of here, Dean." she told him, speaking a little slower than before. "Would you like me to write it down for you?"

Dean gave a soft, almost nervous, chuckle. "Best not." he quipped. But his sister still didn't laugh, her hard face didn't falter. He kept waiting for her to drop the punchline, anticipating her to burst into laughter at the stunned look on his face and tease him about how she'd had him going, but nothing. And he was becoming more and more aware of how genuinely sincere she was being. "Are you serious? You can't break someone out of prison, Hanna."

Hanna frowned, as if to challenge him. "Why not?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. Hanna had been a great hunter in her time, before she had left the life, she had been fierce. She had been like him, and she knew that. She could handle herself against anyone or anything that stood in her way. Honestly, it wasn't that she couldn't do it, it was more that he didn't want her to do it. Deep down, Dean knew that if there was anybody in that world capable of breaking someone out of prison, it was her. But that didn't mean that he wanted her to help him. Had things been different, had she still been a hunter, he wouldn't have thought twice about accepting her offer, but that was then. This was now. If something were to happen, if something went wrong, if she were to get caught, that would be the end of her entire life. She would be in jail just the same as he was. And she didn't deserve that. He deserved to be where he was, it was no one's fault but his own. She just didn't seem to understand that. Either that, or she didn't seem to care.

With a heavy sigh, Dean shook his head. "No, alright?" he told her firmly. "No, this isn't happening."

"Dean—"

"No, Hanna." He stopped her before she could even begin to try and talk him around. "That's the end of it."

"But—"

"Hanna." He stopped her again, sharply, and his tone was stern. "You're not breaking me out of prison, alright? I'm not letting it happen. That's the end of it."

"Dean, what the hell is wrong with you?" Hanna snapped, easily matching his tone. "You're _innocent_. What, you wanna end up on death row for something you haven't done, is that it?"

Dean shook his head slowly, looking away from her. "No one's innocent, Hanna." he muttered, and his tone sounded vacant, as though his thoughts were now a million miles away. There was evidently something pressing on his mind, and she had a feeling that she knew what it was.

Hanna regarded him for a moment, and her face changed. For the smallest moment, she looked nothing but devastated. It was in the way he refused to meet her gaze, the way his eyes seemed to look anywhere but her, she knew. "Oh for Christ's sake," she muttered, shaking her head at him. "Tell me that's not what this is about."

Dean frowned. "What?" he asked, and she had a feeling that he genuinely didn't understand what was going on in his own head.

"You." She looked him up and down carefully, studying his expression. "You blame yourself for Sam's death." Suddenly, everything made a lot more sense to her. "This isn't about you accepting murder charges for something you didn't do. This is you punishing yourself for him."

"Stop it." Dean warned. He drew the line at that. He wasn't going to listen to it. Whether she was right or not, he didn't know, but he wasn't willing to talk about it long enough to find out. "We are not gonna talk about Sam, okay? Not now, not in here, not ever. Are we clear?"

Hanna was silent for a long moment, and he suddenly felt the guilt when he recognised the look on her face. She shrugged at him. "He was my brother, too, you know." she reminded him softly, and, somehow, that only made him feel worse.

Dean knew how much Hanna had to miss Sam, but she hadn't been there when he had died. She hadn't been the one there to watch his life end. That had been him. It had been him who had stopped watching his brother's back long enough that someone had the chance to plunge a knife into it. That was part of the reason he had barely seen his sister since then, he found it hard to even look at her without thinking about what she had lost because of him. Maybe she was right, maybe he was there because of the blame he placed on himself. Maybe the thought of being outside those walls scared him so much because he knew his brother wasn't going to be there by his side. Maybe the idea of being alone in the world, hunting down monsters without his brother, was the real reason he was so determined not to attempt escape. He didn't know. He didn't want to think about it. All he knew was that he wasn't about to ruin his little sister's life the way he had ruined his brother's.

"I know he was, and I'm sorry." he said softly. "But I can't talk about him in here, Han. Please."

Dean looked at her, and his eyes almost pleaded with her to drop it. He didn't want to talk about his brother, not in a place like that. He refused. And, a part of him could see, she understood that, she accepted that. She could have pushed him, she could have turned it all into an argument or forced him to face up to his own feelings, but she didn't. It wasn't the time, or the place. And he was grateful for that.

"C'mon," Hanna coaxed. "We need to get you fixed up, before they start wondering what's taking so long." She gestured for him to take a seat on the bed towards the side of the room, and, with a heavy sigh, he did. He watched as she collected up some supplies and moved towards him. She opened and closed her mouth, as if she wanted to say something but she couldn't decide if it was a good idea. Almost tentative, she began to clean the blood from the wounds on his face, and she sighed softly. "What's it like in this place?" she asked quietly, unsure she really wanted to know. "Is it...I mean...you know..."

Dean raised his eyebrows at her, smirking slightly. "It's kinda like high school." he quipped. "But with knives."

Hanna nodded. She didn't appear to see the funny side. "Huh."

The worry was clear on her face, and he suddenly felt a little guilty. She was there cleaning blood from his face. He knew, if it had been the other way around, he would be worried sick about her going back through that door. "It's really not so bad." he assured her, and she threw him a sceptical look. "It's fine, Han. I'm fine."

Hanna nodded again, dubious. "Sure."

Dean watched her closely as she worked, and neither of them uttered a word for a few minutes. He couldn't even begin to process the fact that she was standing in front of him, let alone that she was there with the intention to break him out of prison. A part of him kept expecting to wake up with a concussion, ready to be greeted by the usually and much less friendly nurse he had become so accustomed to seeing, but he knew that this was real. It just didn't make sense. How could her life have taken such a turn that she could even consider what she was doing to be a good idea? Hanna had worked so hard to get herself where she was, she had given it everything she had and worked and worked until she had the job he knew deep down she had always wanted. She had turned her back on hunting, on the thing that she had been so passionate about, knowing that she would never look back at it. So, what had happened? What had changed? He studied the concentrated frown on her face as she attended to the gash on his forehead, she was good at what she did, the amount of time she had devoted to her studies clearly showed, so why was she so prepared to throw it all away?

The silence ended as Dean hissed and jerked back his head as she came to contact with a particularly sensitive injury on his face, and the action seemed to take her by surprise. "Sorry." she muttered, but he didn't miss the soft smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You looked like you were thinking too hard."

He narrowed his eyes at her, he was more than curious. Really, she hadn't given him any straight answers, and he wanted some. "Hey, Han?"

Her eyes flickered between his face and the bloody wound above it. "Yeah, Dean?"

"Are you okay?" he asked, lamely. "I mean, you look..." He trailed off, searching for the right word to describe it. "Different."

There was a vacant look behind her eyes that he just didn't recognise in her, it was something he had never seen before. There was something missing. The life that had once shone in her green eyes appeared lost. Maybe it was the fact that she was in the middle of a divorce, he was more than aware of how much she had loved her husband, in fact, he couldn't even imagine the idea of them separating. That was just another part of her story that didn't make any sense.

"Yeah," she answered, nonchalant. "I'm fine."

"You said you and Jason were getting a divorce." he pressed. "What happened?"

Hanna cleared her throat, concentrating hard on his face for a moment, and he could see her clear hesitance to answer the question. "We just are." she mumbled. "Things don't always work out the way we want them to." She shrugged it off. "Nothing more to it."

"Han—"

"Dean." She stopped him before he could say more. "I really don't wanna talk about it, okay? Please."

Dean nodded. He wouldn't force it out of her, but he fully intended to find out eventually. "Sure."

Hanna sighed and looked over his face slowly. "I think you're all done." she said simply.

Dean nodded again. "Thanks, Hanna."

She shrugged simply. "Just doing my job."

"Right." He watched as she pulled off her gloves and tossed the bloody wipes beside her in the trash. She busied herself behind her desk for a moment, as if searching for something, before she made her way back to him, holding out her hand. "Here."

Dean frowned and opened his palm, raising his eyebrows at the four white pills she placed there. "What are these?" he pressed, curious.

"Painkillers." she told him bluntly. "I imagine your fight might leave you with a headache later on." There was a disapproving tone to her voice, but he gave her a grateful smile.

"Thank you." he said, genuine.

"Don't mention it." she muttered. "To anyone. At all. Okay?"

Dean huffed a laugh. "Promise." There was a silence between them, not uncomfortable, but apparent. There were a million and one things they wanted to say to each other. Hanna wasn't backing out on her plan, and Dean still fully intended to find out what the hell was going on with her, but they were things that were going to have to wait. It wasn't the place to have that conversation. They didn't have the time. He needed to leave. And she needed him to go. Before anybody started asking questions. "It was good seeing you, Han." There was a soft smile on his face, and she knew that he meant it. As much as he hated the idea of her being in there with him, he wasn't going to deny that was the closest to home he had felt in a long, long time. He crossed the room towards the door and glanced back at her. "Be careful sis." he told her, stern. "I mean it."

Hanna nodded at him. "Yeah, you, too, Dean." she said softly, and the gentle smile faded from her face as she watched him leave the room. She had to get him out of there, sooner rather than later. She had to find a way to talk him around, before it was too late.


	4. Cellmates

_Thank you as always for your reviews, and for taking the time to read the first three chapters, I cannot thank you all enough for your support!_

 _Thank you again to loveintheimpala for helping me write this chapter, there wouldn't be a story without her!_

 _Hope you enjoy this chapter :)_

* * *

 **Break Out**

 **Chapter Four: Cellmates**

 _Carson City, Nevada — Springhill Prison — 05:02PM_

Dylan Williams heaved a tired sigh as he flipped through the last few pages of the magazine in his hands. It had to be the millionth time that week he'd read the same tedious pages, but what else was there to do in that place but stare at the walls? He glanced up as the bars to his cell were opened, and he raised his eyebrows at the, not too surprising, sight before him. It wasn't an unusual thing to see anymore—Dean Winchester returning battered and bruised—he had become accustomed to it. He knew, whoever he had allowed to do that to him was facing a storm. And fortunately, he had never found himself on the wrong side of the man he shared his small room with, and he never wanted to. Despite everything, something in the back of Dylan's mind told him that Dean wasn't such a bad guy deep down, and he believed that. They got along fine, as cell mates, but what choice did they really have but to tolerate each other? They respected each other, and that was good enough.

"What happened to you this time?" Dylan asked, curious, as the cell door was slammed closed behind Dean. He sat up straighter on his bed with a frown, he looked as though he had really taken a beating this time.

"Willis." Dean muttered, pulling a hand down his face as he spoke. He looked tired, as though there were a million and one things on his mind. That wasn't like him at all. He was a man who usually left nothing but stoicism in his wake. He stepped further into the cell and shrugged off his jacket. "He'll get his, don't worry about that."

Dylan scoffed, watching him closely. Something seemed different. "I don't doubt it." he replied, honestly, shaking his head to himself. He watched as Dean splashed some water on his face, washing away some of the dried blood that remained on his skin. "So, I'm dying to know man, how is she?"

Dean turned around to face him with a frown, patting his face dry with a rough towel. "Who?"

"The new nurse everyone's talking about." He shrugged, nonchalant, as though the information couldn't have concerned him less. "Nick Shay sounded more than willing to get himself shanked to get up to that infirmary."

Dean cleared his throat, brushing off the comment as though it was nothing. "Did he now?"

There was an unmistakable rush of protectiveness at the words, something that Dean hadn't felt for his kid sister in a long time, not since she had left the life. It was something that, until now, hadn't even crossed his mind. Hanna was the only girl in that place, he knew, it wasn't going to be a fun job for her to do. The men in there weren't exactly gentlemen. They weren't polite and they sure as hell weren't considerate. He didn't even want to imagine some of the comments she was likely to hear from them.

Dylan huffed. "So?" he pressed. "She hot?"

Dean simply shook his head, shrugging. "Didn't take much notice." he mumbled, turning away from him. He looked ahead at the small, cracked mirror above the sink, eyes focused on the gash she had just stitched up on his forehead. It wasn't a conversation he particularly wanted to engage in. Then again, should he start defending her, should he become defensive, that would look nothing but suspicious. What was he supposed to say?

"Oh, come on." Dylan narrowed his eyes at him. Something was definitely off about him. "Why do I find that hard to believe? Either she was or she wasn't. I wanna know what all the hype's about."

"Look," Dean snapped, a little harsher and a lot more protective than he had intended. "Can we drop it? I'm not having this conversation about—"

But he stopped himself abruptly, and that brought a frown to the younger man's face, and he sat up a little straighter. He had shared a cell with Dean Winchester for almost three months, and this was the most emotion he had ever seen from him. "About?" he pushed, more than curious. "What? You know her or something?"

"No." Dean answered, automatically. "No, I just—I know a girl who looks like her. That's all."

"Huh." There was something about the look on his face that intrigued Dylan. Dean had never spoken much about his feelings, in fact, he was pretty sure this was the most conversation he had ever gotten out of him about anything real. He never spoke about his family, his life before prison, anything even close to personal, but now, there was a vacant look behind his eyes that gave the impression there was something pretty heavy on his mind. "Anyone special?"

Slowly, Dean nodded, almost hesitant. "My sister."

"Didn't know you had a sister." Dylan commented, watching him carefully. "You two close?"

"Uh, we were." Dean sighed, and his mind drifted back to the way they had been before she had left the life. He missed those days, back when it had been the three of them against the world and everything had been fine. He would have given anything to go back to that. But those days were long gone, and he refused to let his mind dwell on them for too long. "Not so much anymore. Kind lose touch when your brother is a wanted criminal, you know?"

"Yeah, I know how it goes, man." Dylan muttered, a little despondent. "I had a sister, Anna, she was a couple years younger than me. Always tried to protect her, you know? Keep her safe." He shook his head, remorseful. "And I ended up here for it."

Dean frowned at him, suddenly intrigued. "What happened?"

Dylan shrugged. "I killed the guy who killed her." he said simply, there was no emotion in his words. "I got sent here for it. Life sentence."

Dean blinked, a little taken aback. "Jeez, man." He hadn't been expecting him to say that. "I'm sorry. How'd she die?"

"He beat her. I tried and tried to get her to leave him, but," He sighed deeply. "Easier said than done, right? Thing is, I'm not even sorry. I'd do it again." Dean leaned back against the sink and watched him for a moment. He had never known that about him. All he had known was that the guy was down on a murder. He had never asked for the details. Truth was, had he been in a similar situation with his own sister, had someone hurt her like that, he knew for a fact that he would have done the exact same thing. How was that justice? "You know, when we were kids, I used to fight any guy who'd look twice at her. She used to fight me on it, call me overprotective, whatever." He sighed. "She never understood, I was just trying to look out for her, stop her meeting someone like him."

Dean nodded, giving a soft laugh. "Yeah, I feel you on that one, man. I was the same. Pretty sure my sister hated me her last couple of years in school." He moved to sit down on the other end of the bed. "How old was she?"

"Would've been twenty-three this year." He smiled a little. "What about yours?"

"Twenty-five." He glanced up at him, frowning a little as he worked it out. "Guess that makes her the same age as you, right?"

Dylan nodded. "Guess so." He sighed. "I'd give anything to see her again, you know? But," He shrugged it off, somewhat awkward. "Shit happens, right?"

Dean sighed, shaking his head. He wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't even imagine something like that happening to his own sister, it had been hard enough to say goodbye to Sam, he couldn't handle the thought of losing his sister, too. He couldn't let her help him, because he couldn't be the one responsible for ruining her life. He had to get her out of there, he had to make her understand, he had to talk her around. He needed to make her see sense, because she wasn't thinking straight. She couldn't be, not if she was seriously considering what she was.

* * *

 _Carson City, Nevada — Springhill Prison — 07:30AM._

Dean had lay there that night for hours, just staring at the dull ceiling above him. He had spent so many nights like that he was sure he could count the cracks and marks in it from memory. But that night, his brain just wouldn't switch off, he couldn't get the same thoughts from his head, and it was slowly driving him insane. Could Hanna really manage to bust him out of there? Could he really let her try it? Maybe she thought she had nothing left to lose. Maybe she really did want him out of there. Or, was she simply trying to save his life? Maybe it had nothing to do with him being in prison, maybe it was more about the fact she was convinced he was facing the death penalty. He tried to think about what he would do if the situation were reversed. If he found his sister facing death row, especially for something she hadn't done, what would he do about it? There was no question. He knew. He wouldn't waste a second in trying to break her out of there. And he knew, the way they were raised, their minds worked in the same way. They thought alike.

Had Hanna still been in the life, had she still been a hunter riding shotgun with him, he wouldn't have thought twice about accepting her help. He would have laughed and offered her a high five at the idea. But this was different, she wasn't in the life anymore, she had worked so hard to get herself away from everything that had anything to do with hunting. She had graduated from college, she had gotten married and made a life for herself. He had ruined Sam's life once by dragging him back into hunting, could he really do the same thing to her? He would never forgive himself for that night he had shown up at Stanford to get his brother, it haunted him every single day. He imagined how different things could have been had he never taken him away from there. Maybe he would still be alive right now. It was a choice he would take back in a heartbeat. He wouldn't make it again, for anything. But, Hanna seemed more than willing to help him. Maybe that was the difference.

"Can't sleep?" A voice asked from the bunk beneath him, and it had him sat bolt upright so fast he felt dizzy. It sure as hell wasn't Dylan's voice. He all but threw himself off the bed and to the floor, eyes wide as he tried to make out the person there through the darkness. He recognised the voice, how could he not? It ran through his mind almost every minute of every day. "You look like hell, dude."

Dean blinked, and then blinked again, but the man lying on the bunk before him was still there, arms rested comfortably behind his head. "Sammy?" he whispered, and it didn't feel real saying his name, not in there.

Sam grinned and pushed himself to sit upright on the bed, swinging his long legs over the edge until his feet found the floor. "Hey, Dean."

"What the—" He stopped, frowning. "What—I mean—Sam? I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

Sam scoffed, as though his brother amused him. "Well," He shrugged. "Either that, or you're going crazy."

Dean frowned harder, staring at him. Was he going crazy? He was talking to his dead brother, it was more than possible. No, he had to be dreaming. It was just some confusing, messed up dream. He looked over him slowly, and he looked exactly the same as he had that night, the last time he had seen him. The thought of that night haunted him, the look on his brother's face as the knife had been plunged into his back, the unforgiving pain in his features, the sound of him taking his last breath, the way his head had dropped forward to Dean's shoulder when he had been unable to hold it up anymore, none of it ever left his mind. And yet, there he was.

He opened and closed his mouth, he didn't even know where to start. "Sam..." But he didn't know what else he could say to him. "What's going on?"

Sam chuckled. "I'm here to help you." he told him simply, and Dean knew the confusion was written all over his face. "You know, the big question," Sam shrugged at him, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about the situation. "You gonna let her bust your ass out of here, or what?"

Dean raised his eyebrows at him, shaking his head. "I can't, Sam." he said quietly. "You know I can't."

Sam sighed, almost frustrated, and pushed himself to stand and face his brother. "Look, Hanna isn't going anywhere, right? We both know that. You might as well let her get you out of here, because you know she can. She's your only hope here, Dean. What choice do you really have?"

But Dean wasn't having it. "I won't let her throw her life away like this, Sam. Not because of me. I won't do it." He sighed. "I won't ruin her life the way I did yours. I can't drag her back into this life."

Sam regarded him for a moment, and then he looked away. "Dean, what happened with me and Jake wasn't your fault, you do know that, right? You can't punish yourself forever. I mean, what? Are you gonna sit in here and wait for the death sentence? You gonna leave Hanna alone in this world with no family at all? You're all she has left, Dean. Trust me on that."

There was something about Sam's words that returned a frown to the older Winchester's face. "What does that mean?" he pressed, curious.

"Deep down, you know, Dean." Sam said, his voice sincere. "You know why she's here. You need to help her. And you need to let her help you. The two of you need each other. More than you realise."

Dean stared at him, eyes narrowed. It was as though there was something behind his words, he just couldn't tell what it was. It was as though Sam had known something he didn't, or something he hadn't realised he already knew. He was about to ask him for an explanation, but he didn't get the chance. There was a loud bang, a crashing sound that pulled him straight out of his sleep, and he knew that was it. He tried to close his eyes, to will himself back into a slumber, but it wasn't happening, he was awake, his dream was over, and he had to once again face the reality of what was going on around him.

"Winchester!" A loud voice seemed to echo off the walls around him, and he sat up on his bed with a groan.

"What?" he mumbled, pulling a hand down his face as he adjusted his eyes to look down at the guard standing at the door of his cell.

"Warden wants to speak to you." he told him gruffly, impatient. "Now." he urged. "Let's go."

Dean frowned, that didn't sound good. "What about?"

The guard gave an impatient sigh. "What am I, your friggin' secretary?" he spat. "The hell should I know. Something about that new doctor. Now, let's move."

The guard didn't notice, but Dean's face utterly dropped at the comment. Did they know something? Had they caught Hanna? Had someone found out that they were related? Was she in trouble? He didn't like to think what could have gone wrong already.

It had to be something, and he wasn't all that sure he was ready to hear it.


	5. Giving In

_Thank you so much for reading, and for the reviews I've had so far, you guys keep me going!_

 _Thank you as always to the wonderful loveintheimpala, who is always here writing this story with me._

 _Hope you guys enjoy this chapter._

* * *

 **Breaking Out**

 **Chapter Five: Giving In**

 _Carson City, Nevada - Springhill Prison - Warden's Office - 08:03AM._

Dean's eyes slowly scanned the Warden's office. He had never been in there before, in fact, he didn't know many inmates that had, not unless it was something serous. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good, that much he already knew. The words of the guard still rang in his mind, " _Something about that new doctor."_ What possible reason could he want to speak with him about Hanna unless they had worked out what she was really doing there? Had someone realised that they were related? Did they know that she was his sister? He didn't like to think. But, as he did think, a much darker idea came to mind. What if something had happened to her? What if someone in there had hurt her? What if he was in there so that the Warden could break the news to him? That would be enough for Dean to give up right then and there. He had already lost Sam, if he was about to find out that something had happened to Hanna, that would be it.

The Warden had barely even sat down at the other side of the desk before Dean opened his mouth, desperate to know what was happening. "What's going on?" he pushed, almost too forcefully. He was impatient. He needed to know. _Now_.

The Warden looked a little taken aback by his sudden plea for an explanation, he had never known Dean Winchester to be anything but calm and stoic, about everything. He smiled a little, as if to reassure him, still watching him curiously. "Relax, son, it's nothing to worry about." he stated calmly. "You've met the new doctor, haven't you? Hanna Jones."

Dean frowned, confused. He couldn't comprehend what was going on. "Uh, yeah," He nodded. "Yesterday. Why?"

He nodded slowly, not seeming to concerned, about anything. "What did you think?"

That comment took Dean by surprise. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting him to say, but it hadn't been that. "I'm sorry?"

The Warden shrugged, nonchalant. "Well, you're one of the few inmates she's treated here so far, and, I'm sure you can imagine, not everyone in here is, shall we say, _suitable_ to ask for feedback."

"Huh." Dean thought through his words for a moment, frowning. The guy had a point. But that couldn't be the reason he was sitting there. It had to be something more. "Uh, she's good, I guess. Did the job." He shrugged, as though he had no real interest at all in the subject. "I didn't exactly ask for her life story."

The warden forced a chuckle, and he nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I think she'll be good here. Whole bunch of qualifications behind her, too."

"Yeah, she worked hard for them." Dean said, a little bitterly, more to himself than to him. He glanced up and noted the hint of a frown on his face. "I imagine."

"Well, that's not why I called you in here." he said simply, and Dean frowned, apparently, he was right, it wasn't over. "Hanna was in my office this morning, about you. Dean, I hate to be the one to tell you this but you're diabetic."

That statement took a long moment to register with Dean. He didn't understand, and, for a moment, he was sure he had heard him wrong. "I'm sorry, I'm what?"

"I'm afraid so. She told me this morning she'd been concerned with what you'd mentioned yesterday, about your symptoms, and she'd taken a blood test from you." Dean stared at him, not following at all. "The results came back this morning, you're diabetic. I'm sure Doctor Jones will explain everything to you, she'll answer any questions you have about it." But Dean was utterly lost. No, he was more than lost. He had absolutely no idea what was going on around him anymore. "I understand this must be a shock to you. My wife has the same thing, you know. Complete pain in the ass taking that injection every day, but hey, keeps her alive."

Dean's head snapped up at that. "Injection?"

"An insulin injection." he clarified. "As a part of your condition, we're going to have to arrange for you to be seen for an insulin shot once a day. Don't worry, you're not the only inmate here who has it. You'll be taken up to the infirmary once a day, and then you're done. It's really nothing to worry about."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Everyday, huh?" Something about it all made a lot more sense to him. "Right."

"So, as you're already out of your cell, the guard outside will escort you up to the infirmary so Doctor Jones can give you your first one. I've requested he allows you time to talk." he stated simply, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary happening. And, to him, there probably wasn't. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions to ask her."

Dean huffed a laugh. "You have no idea." he muttered, shaking his head to himself. He couldn't believe her. "Thank you." he said, standing from his seat.

The warden also stood from his seat, moving around his desk to escort Dean to the door of his office. He paused at the door, his hand on the nob, and smiled. "Take my word, son, you really have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah," Dean pushed up a smile. "I'm sure."

* * *

 _Carson City, Nevada - Springhill Prison - Infirmary - 08:40AM._

Dean opened the door of the infirmary, letting himself inside, more than aware the guard sitting in the waiting room behind him wasn't going anywhere until he came out. There were a million different thoughts running through his mind, and he couldn't decide if he was more impressed, annoyed or confused. The door slammed closed behind him, a little more forcefully than what he had expected, and it seemed to make his sister jump.

Hanna was sitting behind her desk, filling out some forms, he didn't know what, he didn't really care, but the sound of the slamming door quickly grabbed her attention. She looked up at the sound, and a smile came to her face as she saw him. She dropped the pen down, paperwork instantly forgotten about, and stood from her seat. She made her way around the desk, a grin on her face as though she found something exciting, and she leaned back against the other side of it, arms folded across her chest. "Hey, Dean." she greeted him simply, but he recognised the knowing smirk playing on her face.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head at her. "Diabetic?" he questioned, and now he sounded anything but amused. "Little heads up might have been nice, kid."

She narrowed her eyes at him, as though confused, and her head tilted to the side. "But...you're not diabetic." she said slowly. "So, why would you need a heads up?"

Dean rolled his eyes at her. "Don't push me, Hanna." She chuckled to herself, not seeming at all concerned. "I mean, an insulin shot? Really, Han?"

But this time, Hanna grinned at him, and she looked beyond pleased with herself. "I know. Smart, right?"

Dean huffed at her, at that point refusing to agree with her just on principle. "Yeah," He nodded slowly. "Very Michael Scofield of you."

Hanna nodded, as though impressed. "You remembered."

"Of course I remember, you were _obsessed_ with that show." But he narrowed his eyes as a new thought sprang to mind. "Wait, hold up. No, no, no, tell me that isn't your plan here." Hanna raised an eyebrow, questioningly. "Tell me you're not taking your ideas from Prison Break. They had like planes, and money, and it still didn't end well for them. Most of them ended up shot. Or in prison. Or...missing an arm."

"Actually, it was just a hand...not an arm...for the record. Poor guy." But Dean simply frowned. "Relax, Dean. I'm not taking any pointers from Prison Break. You're fine. I promise neither of us will get shot or stabbed or lose an arm." Dean nodded, as if to say that he'd take it, but the frown didn't completely fade away. There was still something bugging him, something on his mind, she could see it from a mile away. "Hey," she pressed, a little more seriously. "Are you alright?"

Dean nodded again, as if it was simply some automatic response for him. Honestly, she wasn't sure he had even registered her question. "Yeah," he muttered. "I just...I had a weird dream last night."

Hanna raised her eyebrows. He looked as though he was in another world. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No," He shook his head. He instantly regretted even mentioning it. "Not really. It's fine. I mean, I'm fine. Forget about it."

Hanna narrowed her eyes at him. "No," She didn't buy it for a second. "Something's up. What is it?"

Dean regarded her for a long moment. He glanced down to the scrubs she wore, and then to the badge pinned to her chest, and finally to her face. A small smile tugged at his lips. "You're still here." he pondered. "I thought when I saw you that day...I don't know what I thought. Maybe it was a moment of madness or something, maybe you were feeling impulsive. For a minute I thought I was hallucinating. But, here you are. In prison. With me. I just, I guess I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around it, you know?" He sighed, a little sadly. "You're not backing off, are you?"

He thought back to the dream he'd had the previous night. He couldn't shake the words that Sam had left swimming in his mind. He knew that it had all just been a dream, it wasn't real, but there was something about it that had seemed so vivid. It had been as though he was actually there. He couldn't work it out. Something about it had stuck, and a part of him wanted to let her break him out of there, but the larger part, the part that held onto the guilt and the responsibility, wouldn't allow it.

"I meant what I said, Dean." Hanna told him quietly, breaking his thoughts. "I'm getting you out of here, whether you like it or not. Why can't you just accept help when you need it? You're so stubborn."

"This has nothing to do with being stubborn, Han." he retorted, a little blunter than he had meant.

Hanna sighed, she just didn't understand. "Then what is it?" she pushed. "Huh? Tell me."

Dean shook his head slowly, searching for an answer. He couldn't explain what he couldn't even begin to comprehend himself. "I just..." He trailed off and pulled a hand roughly though his hair, defeated. "I can't believe this."

"Dean, what is the problem?" she urged, pleading for some kind of insight. " _Please_ , just tell me. Because I honestly don't understand."

Dean looked at her, really looked at her, and his eyes found the green ones staring right back at him. "How can you not see it?" he asked, his voice soft. "You. Ending up here. Like this. It's not right, Han. It's not fair."

"Dean—"

"No." Dean stopped her before she had the chance to argue with him. "You don't get it, Hanna. You worked so hard to get yourself where you are. All that time at college, all that work you did, this is your entire career on the line, your whole life. You know, I don't know if I ever told you this, but I was _so_ proud of you that day you told me you were leaving the life. Don't throw all of that away for this. It's not worth it, kid." He shrugged. "I won't watch you get yourself thrown into prison because of me. I can't do it to you."

Hanna sighed. It all made sense. "Dean—"

But he still wasn't listening. "No." He stopped her again. "I just don't understand how you can be so willing to sacrifice it all. You realise, you get caught, there's no going back. Hell, even if you do manage to bust me out, that's life on the run. For _both_ of us."

"I'm aware." she replied simply, and that comment seemed to take him by surprise. "Don't you think that crossed my mind when I applied? I didn't apply here and show up the next day, Dean. This isn't something I've dreamed up overnight. I've thought this through. I know what I'm doing. I wouldn't be standing here if I didn't." Hanna shook her head at him, she almost felt like laughing. "I'm not gonna watch you die in here. I'm gonna get you out. And you can fight me all you want, but I'm not going anywhere."

"And what the hell makes you think that you can break someone out of prison, Han?" he pushed. "Seriously? Do you even have a plan?"

Hanna smiled at him. "I've been here a couple of days, bro. Give me a chance." She looked up at him and shrugged. "You might have cut me out of your life, Dean, that doesn't mean that I cut you out of mine."

"I didn't cut you out of my life, Han." Hanna raised her eyebrows at him, dubious, and he sighed. "At least, I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

And he was. Dean was genuinely sorry. She looked on at him, expectant, and Dean shook his head, there was no arguing with her, he knew it, and she knew it. A part of him didn't want to fight her on it. She was right, he didn't want to die in there. She was the only hope he had. "I can't believe you're doing this. And, I can't believe I'm even considering this." he muttered, more to himself than to her. He sighed, reluctant, and nodded. "Alright, so what are you thinking?"

Hanna's face instantly contorted to a grin. She smiled brighter than he remembered seeing in a long time, because she knew, he was in.

They were going to break him out of prison.


End file.
